


Furlough

by tiny-freakin-head (Hobbitfing)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Sex, Bad Dirty Talk, Biting, Blood and Injury, Boxing & Fisticuffs, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Rimming, cross-faction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 15:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10619568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitfing/pseuds/tiny-freakin-head
Summary: Sniper and Spy need to let off steam after being trapped at Coldfront.





	

The furlough stretched on and on.

Everyone on BLU base was on edge and a few fights had broken out already. Demo and Soldier were both drunk almost constantly, fighting and blowing shit up outside on the frozen parade grounds. Scout was making a pain of himself, bothering everyone. He’d follow people around, talking their ear off until they paid some kind of attention to him. Engineer was far more prickly than usual, fixing the heat time and time again as it crapped out on them. The base was naturally cold and drafty, and everything was old and beaten up. The Texan was doing the best he could with what he had and what he had was junk. Sniper was forced out of his camper and into the base by the cold and was prone to snapping at anyone who came even near his personal space. Even the usually even-tempered Pyro was peevish. The flamethrower was no longer allowed out of the equipment room.

Spy’s smoking was constant. He was stressed, even to the point of gnawing on his nails and grinding his teeth. He was sick of his team, sick of their rations, sick of not fighting. It’d been awhile since their last furlough and he hadn’t realized how used to battle he’d become. He’d been considering going into town and seeing a match just to let off some steam. The roads were clear, it was too dry out here to snow.

Taking off his mask and putting on a dark coat, Spy was sure he was disguised well enough for town. They weren’t technically allowed in town after Soldier and Demo’s last trip in, but Spy did not believe in rules. He drove in, slipping into the back of the crowd to watch the bareknuckle boxing match.

Grinning—baring his teeth, really—Sniper wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. “That all ya got, wanker?” he taunted his opponent—a hulking, lumbering local who had continued to severely underestimate the power in Sniper’s lean frame, despite several solid hits. “I’ve pissed worse things than you.” He wasn’t entirely sure the last made sense, but it didn’t matter. He danced sideways, ducking a wild haymaker. He could feel the rush of air as it passed centimetres from his ear, but he came up swinging, tucked close to the other man’s body. Before the brute could pull back his arm to fight back, Sniper rapped him smartly under the chin. His head snapped back, his eyes rolled up, and he dropped to the blood-spattered cement floor. Sniper howled his triumph, fiercely meeting the eyes of everyone watching, daring them to challenge him. He froze. Just for an instant, he thought he saw...no, that was impossible.

Bare, narrow chest heaving, Sniper took a quick stock of his injuries—minor, he could keep fighting—and waited for his next challenger. This beat the hell out of sitting around the base, watching the others slowly turn on each other. Sniper disliked—was frightened of, if he was being perfectly honest—people at the best of times, and being trapped on-base with eight increasingly surly mercenaries had him terrified. If he didn’t blow off steam, he was going to kill them all in the night—after disconnecting respawn.

Spy barely sidestepped Sniper’s eyes, trying to fight back his grin. The bushman could fight. Not what he’d expected from his foe, who usually shot people from a great distance or hacked at people with that oversized butter-knife of his.

_I’ve pissed things worse than you, what on earth does that mean?_

Tossing off his coat and rolling up his shirtsleeves, Spy stepped into the ring after there was quite a pause. It didn’t seem anyone else was going to fight him. They must have been watching him beat the shit out of people for awhile. Spy wasn’t sure who to bet on between the two of them; Sniper had a long reach and a lot of power in his swing, but Spy was quicker and stronger than he looked. He had a lot of experience in close combat and he knew how to fight people who were bigger than him, since that was most everyone.

He smirked across the ring at his familiar enemy. “Hello, _mon ami_.” He doubted the people watching understood the extent of their relationship.

Sniper’s eyes widened, then immediately narrowed. “You,” he growled with pleasure, showing his sharp eyeteeth. “Bloody perfect.” He rolled his neck and shoulders, settling into a fighting chance. Of all the people on Earth to fight right now, the enemy Spy just might be the best. It didn’t even matter who won, not if he was honest with himself. Landing even a single hit, out here without Medics or dispensers or even sandviches, where dying at least meant losing _something_ , even if it was just the short distance back to base, would be worth _everything_. Wiping the condescending smirk off the smug Frenchman’s face with his fists was just what he needed.

Spy stepped in close. It’d been awhile since he’d done anything like this. Looking up at the bushman like this; shirtless, with a bit of blood on his swollen red knuckles, he looked taller than Spy remembered. Wilder. Spy raised his fists, widening his stance, light on his feet, waiting for Sniper to move.

Sniper could feel his heart speeding up, his breath quickening. He’d have to fight himself as well as the Spy—he wanted to _hurt_ the damn BLU, and that was going to distract him. He forced himself to be still, standing over his shorter opponent. He didn’t think he could truly intimidate the Spy, not after all this time, but it was satisfying. He curled his toes in his boots, imagining how to start—imagining how to _finish_. His finger twitched with the effort of keeping still, but he didn’t want to make the first move. He wanted to wait, see if he could force Spy’s hand.

Alright then, Spy wasn’t willing to test a Sniper’s patience. Bets were still flying back and forth and he couldn’t help but chuckle at their nicknames. Legs was obviously Sniper. Frog would be him. Shouldn’t have given himself away by speaking, he supposed.

With a quick feint to the face and a second blow to the neck, his knuckles curled into a leopard punch instead of a usual fist. Spy ducked back as quick as he came, trying out Sniper’s speed and size with his first move.

They’d fought each other so many times, knew each other’s movements so well, but Sniper wasn’t sure if that would make this easier or harder. This was different, a break from the usual routines of battle. The rules were different, both freer and more restrained.

Sniper allowed the Spy to think his feint had succeeded, ducking sideways at the last moment. He hadn’t expected the Spy to be quite that quick, and the blow to the neck actually scraped his stubble as it passed. Now they were moving together, no pretention, no waiting, just testing and grinning in each others’ faces.

He’d gotten used to fighting larger, taller opponents in the ring, and the Spy’s size threw him off for a moment. He’d have to watch himself, keep his blows to the Spy’s body rather than his face, where he’d do as much damage to himself as to the Spy. He aimed low, jabbing for the Spy’s left flank, other hand raised and loose, waiting to react and move where it was needed.

Spy’s whole body pivoted along with Sniper’s blow, his back suddenly pressed to Sniper’s chest, his elbow driven hard into the man’s sternum.

Too late to step away from it, Sniper stepped closer to the Spy, hoping to weaken the blow slightly. He grunted as the Spy’s elbow struck, doubling over. Sniper could be quick—very quick—when he wanted to, and he used that speed now. He threw up his left arm, boxing the Spy in, keeping him close, and threw a rapid series of rabbit punches at the Spy’s kidneys.

Gritting his teeth against the pain of the swift blows to his kidneys, Spy dropped all his weight down, and as soon as the arm boxing him in was out of his way, he sent a sharp blow of his knuckles to Sniper’s neck, right under his chin.

Sniper’s eyes widened—he hadn’t expected that, not at all. He’d expected the Spy to press forward or back, not make himself more vulnerable by going down. The blow took him more or less by surprise; he only managed to drop his chin a little at the last second to keep himself from getting hit in the windpipe. His eyes flashed, all thoughts of rules or fair play out of his head. He was out for _blood_ now. Snarling, he struck out with his knee and elbow at the same time, not caring where he hit as long as his blows landed. Dimly, distantly, he heard the roar of the crowd as they noticed the shift, but that wasn’t important anymore. All that mattered was the smug bloody Spy in front of him.

Sniper’s chin hurt his knuckles, but Spy fought to move forward and away from Sniper just for a moment. Sniper’s knee caught him in the back and his sharp elbow caught the back of his head and he spun, gracelessly. Both of them were panting already, Spy grinning, Sniper’s teeth bared. Spy waited this time, sure that his enemy was too angry to wait this time.

Breathing heavily, Sniper forced himself to stillness again. He hadn’t always been patient—as a young man, he’d been wild and reckless, but he’d trained himself to wait. To savour the tension, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Every muscle was tense—if the Spy came for him now, he’d be off-balance and rigid, but he wouldn’t let the Spy force him into moving.

Ah, he was waiting again! Spy came in fast with a few blows, then an arm sweep, trying to get Sniper off balance, or at least surprised enough to move back.

Sniper’s body took over, moving automatically. He dodged the blows almost leisurely, feeling as though time had slowed, the way it did when he had the perfect shot in his sights and his finger was tightening on the trigger. He stepped closer, trying to use his superior height to cow the Spy, make him back down, hopefully drive him back against a wall. He threw a few languid punches of his own, none of them really intended to strike, just to box the Spy in and push him where Sniper wanted him.

Spy did get pushed back, and back, until he knew the edge of the ring was closing in on him. Now he stopped, fists raised to protect his face. He drew back and darted forwards, grabbing Sniper by the ears and pulling his face down into a headbutt.

Sniper howled—trust a Spook to use a dirty trick like that, and that was about all you could trust one for. Spy’s head hit him squarely on the nose, stunning him and making him stumble back a step. Growling under his breath, he charged, knee driving for Spy’s groin.

The tone of the crowd had changed again. Now there was less cheering and yelling, and a lot more silence. This fight had gotten too personal. Spy howled, grabbing onto Sniper’s body, fingernails digging into the man’s shoulders. He was lifted and spun, still reeling from the blow to his groin. As soon as he’d recovered, he wrapped his thighs around the RED’s sides and hit him in the face with his elbow.

Moving with the blow, feeling blood spray from his nose to mist the Spy, Sniper allowed himself to fall back, lifting his elbow and allowing gravity to drive the Spy down onto it. He hesitated, just for a moment—was the Spy _hard?_ He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan—here he’d been worried it was just him, had tried to chalk it up to the thrill of battle or something, but his own cock had been straining at his trousers almost since the moment the Spy had stepped into the ring.

Spy, sprayed with blood, gritted his teeth as Sniper’s elbows hit right under his ribs and knocked the breath out of him. “Ah-!” he kept his thighs tight around Sniper’s body, not wanting to let go and lose his footing or end up thrown. Instead he grabbed a handful of Sniper’s hair and curled a fist, ready to hit the RED again.

Too distracted by their own fight, they hadn’t noticed that the crowd was starting to get involved. Spy’s fist was caught as he pulled it back and he was pried off Sniper, both of them torn away from each other.

Sniper felt a large, strange hand—not Spy’s—grab his wrist and haul him away from his target with a low rumble that sounded like gibberish to him. He whirled on the intruder, snarling. “Fuck off, ya cunt!”

Spy fought against them for a moment, then gathered himself and calmed himself down. He was breathing hard, aching all over, but he felt better than he had before. He felt wonderfully alive. “Calm down, it’s over,” he called over the noise of the crowd. “I’ll buy you a drink, _tireur_.”

Sniper continued to struggle, eyes blazing, but his exhaustion after several consecutive fights caught up with him all at once. He went still, narrow chest heaving, head slumped slightly. He nodded, holding up a hand to show he wouldn’t resist.

Spy brushed away the men holding Sniper, offering him a handkerchief for his bloody nose. “I’m guessing beer?”

“You’d be wrong, spook.” Sniper took the handkerchief, shooting the Spy a slightly incredulous look. “This looks expensive; sure you want me to get it all bloody and covered in my bushman filth?” Wincing, limping ever so slightly, he pushed his way through the crowd to the bar, pulling on his stashed shirt as he went. “Neither of us won,” he pointed out, not turning around, just trusting that Spy would be close enough to hear him.

Spy shrugged, following closely. “I’ve never thought your drink choice would be needed information. And I wouldn’t have passed it to you if I minded it getting filthy.” He was still out of breath, his heart racing, adrenaline pumping.

“You never know when something’ll be needed information, do you?” Sniper smirked. “Whiskey, straight,” he told the bartender, before turning back to the Spy. “Not that I don’t like a good beer but...I think this calls for something a bit stronger.”

Spy laughed, breathlessly. He ordered brandy and was pleasantly surprised that they had any. It wasn’t terribly good, but it wasn’t the worst thing he’d drank either. “Do you do this often?”

Sniper shrugged, wincing as his drink burned a thin split on his lip. “Do you?” he asked, grinning, head ducked a little shyly.

Sniper was being shy and it was so strangely endearing. “Never have before. I might have to come again,” he chuckled. He put a hand on Sniper’s thigh slowly, delicately, waiting for a reaction.

Sniper shivered, like a horse trying to shake off a fly. He tensed, started to move away, then stilled. He opened his mouth, inhaled as he prepared to speak, then shut it again.

Spy slid his hand up Sniper’s thigh slowly, the edge of his hand just barely brushing Sniper’s groin. He wasn’t quite hard, but he was certainly on the edge. “We could get a room,” Spy suggested. Hopefully his enemy would be as interested as he was. Otherwise tonight might become awkward.

“You’d stay in a hotel room here? Not exactly going to find silk sheets,” Sniper pointed out, voice gently teasing. Could the Spy really be offering...this? He shivered again and swallowed hard. “Don’t want to do anything you’ll regret in the morning.”

“I know what I’m asking for.”

“Yeah.” Sniper laughed, very softly. “I just bet you do.” He downed the rest of his whiskey, in one long swallow. “Yeah, alright. Let’s go.” He stumbled to his feet, moving a little stiffly.

Spy finished his own drink and followed, more eagerly than he’d like to admit. The man behind the counter of the hotel seemed too bored to care that they were both bloody and bruised and two men getting one bed together. They headed to their room quickly and before the door was even closed, Spy was stripping off his shirt.

“Fuck,” Sniper growled, low and appreciative. “Can’t...can’t say I haven’t thought about this...” he admitted. His face flushed, and he looked away. “Piss. I didn’t mean...” He closed his mouth, hard. He was flustered and it was making him say everything he thought—a dangerous thing to do around anyone, but especially a Spy.

“What have you thought?” Spy encouraged, pushing Sniper up into the door, hard, pulling at his shirt roughly enough to pop off a couple buttons. “Instead of knives to finish our fights, we fuck each other?” he growled.

“M-maybe...” Sniper grunted at the impact, his cock springing to full attention. He barely resisted the urge to rut against the Spy and settled instead for grabbing a handful of the Spy’s mask and taking his mouth in a rough kiss. That was easier than talking. “Somethin’ like that.”

Spy gave a surprised and pleased sound against Sniper’s mouth, taking the RED’s lip between his teeth. He thrust his hips up against the other man, keeping him pressed against the door with the weight of his body. His gloved hands roamed Sniper’s chest appreciatively, finally settling at his hips and coming together at the front of his pants to tug at his belt.

Sniper shivered beneath Spy’s leather-covered hands, his body going stiff and still. His body wanted this—oh, he wanted this—but fucking the enemy Spy wasn’t exactly the sort of thing professionals did. He had no doubt about Spy’s ability to keep their liaison a secret, but he was absolute rubbish at it. His own Spy would probably only have to take one look at his face to immediately know what he’d been up to during furlough. “I—” He managed a strangled croak, and then Spy was undoing his belt and his resolve.

Spy looked up at him with a raised eyebrow as Sniper squawked a little. He leaned in and kissed Sniper’s neck, softly at first, then sucking the skin into his mouth and biting at him, leaving a red mark behind. His voice was a little breathless. “You don’t want to stop?”

“No,” Sniper murmured, barely audible. “No, I don’t,” he repeated, more forcefully. He groaned, low and guttural, arching his neck for Spy to reach his favourite places to be nipped and sucked. He heard the breathless note in Spy’s voice with no small amount of pride.

Spy let Sniper lead his mouth to his favourite spots, nibbling and sucking at him as he followed his arching neck. He left red and purple marks behind, having to stand on his toes to reach properly. Now that Sniper’s belt was undone, he pressed him back into the door a little harder and slid his hands down the front of his pants. He was a tiny bit surprised to find Sniper did not wear underwear and he was already holding his cock.

“Ohfuckohfuck...” Sniper moaned, feeling Spy’s hand—cool, because of the glove—on him. He blushed a little with a crooked smile at the expression on Spy’s face when he realized he wasn’t wearing anything underneath. “Never seen your Sniper undress?” he teased. “Pretty sure he does the same thing.”

“That man is practically always naked. What do you both have against clothes?” he laughed, pressing up against Sniper’s thigh and rubbing his hardening erection against him.

Sniper shrugged. “I like being able to f-feel things...” He rubbed back, not sure what to do with his hands. Despite their fight, he felt a little reluctant to touch Spy now, worried the other man would shoot him a disgusted look or something. He remembered, vividly, one of the few times he’d gone to a museum. He’d tried to touch something, learn how it felt, and he’d been jerked away by a uniformed guard and thrown out of the building. He had an unnerving sense that the same thing would happen if he touched Spy now.

“And yet you’re not feeling me at all,” Spy complained, grinding against him, breaths coming out all shivery. He pushed hard against him, slamming him into the door again with frustration.

“You want me to feel you?” Sniper asked, encouraged into grinning down at Spy. “You want me to put these,” he held up his hands—torn knuckles, none too clean under the nails—in front of Spy, “big, dirty bushman’s hands all over your snowy white skin?”

Spy took his hands and put them around his waist, looking up at him with a challenge in his expression.

Sniper trailed his thumbs lower, tracing the jutting outline of Spy’s hipbones before darting even farther, into Spy’s pants. “Pants are too damn tight, mate,” Sniper laughed. “No room for both of us in here.”

Spy quickly undid his belt, tugging down his pants. “Who’s fucking who?” he asked, mouth against Sniper’s stubbly jawline, nibbling and licking.

“Don’t care,” Sniper groaned, “long as it gets started soon.” He laughed. “You’re driving me wild, mate.”

“Neither of us won,” Spy said, as if suddenly realizing it.

“What do you—oh.” Sniper laughed again. “Mate, if that’s what it comes down to, I’m happy to let you fuck me.”

“You don’t care to continue playing rough?” Spy grinned, wrapping an arm around Sniper’s neck and jumping up, his thighs squeezing around his waist, kissing him hard until they were both breathless.

“Didn’t say that,” Sniper murmured, grunting a little as he adjusted to Spy’s—minimal—weight. He licked his eyeteeth provocatively. “I don’t mind a bit of rough, but Spy, if I don’t get off soon I’m gonna pop. I feel like bloody...Scout right now!”

Spy laughed, smirking. “You’re the one standing. Get us to the bed.”

Sniper shifted Spy a little, cupping the smaller man’s ass—both to help stabilize Spy and because he was feeling cheeky and thought he could get away with it. He marched them to the bed, hands freely roaming Spy’s bottom. He set Spy down, slowly and carefully, standing a little awkwardly beside the bed. It seemed like, every time he stopped touching Spy, he got nervous and awkward again.

Spy wrapped a leg around him and pulled Sniper down on top of himself. He pushed down his pants the rest of the way, fighting with his and Sniper’s remaining clothes until they were both naked.

“You’re warm,” Sniper murmured, immediately regretting it. What kind of thing was that to say, seeing another man naked for the first time, their bodies pressed together? “Ah...” But he couldn’t think of anything else _to_ say. For some reason he’d expected Spy’s skin to be cool. Words had never been his strong suit, anyway. He kissed Spy fiercely, putting a hand on each of his enemy’s shoulders, pinning him to the bed—but allowing for easy escape. Sniper had no illusions about how any of his teammates or the other team would react to being legitimately trapped against his will.

Spy chuckled. “Yes, I’d hope so,” he murmured against Sniper’s skin, enjoying the illusion of danger that Sniper was offering, of being caught and kept. It made his erection twitch, dripping against his thigh. “That’s good,” he said, suggestively. He definitely wouldn’t argue if Sniper wanted to fuck him.

Sniper shuddered as he remembered a fantasy he’d had many times—Spy on his knees in front of him, begging for his cock—but...hopefully another time. For now, he didn’t want to talk, he just wanted release. He gave a soft huff of laughter. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any slick.”

Spy suddenly slid his skinny wrists free from under Sniper, wrapping his legs around him and rolling them both so he was on top. He dropped off the bed and lifted Sniper by his knees, waiting just a moment before pressing his mouth to Sniper’s ass, his expression questioning.

Sniper’s eyes fluttered shut; this was even better than what he’d been imagining. He’d never, in his wildest fantasies, imagined Spy doing _that_ , especially unprompted. Pulling free, he rolled and knelt eagerly, hips canted up, offering himself to Spy’s mouth.

Kneeling worked too, Spy thought, bending closer and pressing his mouth to Sniper’s skin, breathing him in, tongue working inwards. He groaned against the other man, slicking him up slowly and deliberately.

“Oh, fuck Spy, fuck, _fuck_!” Sniper pushed back against Spy’s mouth desperately. “Feels so good,” he moaned, “fuck, fuck me, anything, _please_!”

Spy pulled back with a gasp, popping his thumb into his mouth for a moment and then pushing it into Sniper. He stroked his own cock as he worked himself into Sniper slowly. “You’re so tight,” he panted.

Sniper gave another huff of laughter, face pressed into the thin mattress. “Been a while,” he admitted, “and we’re not exactly using lube. You’ll fit though, promise. I’m ready, I can take it.”

Spy would normally have made sure he meant it, but he was too hard to wait right now. He bent again and gave Sniper a last, probing lick, before crawling up onto the bed behind him and lining his cock up and pressing inwards. He cried out happily, trying to stay still while Sniper adjusted to his size. “God,” he cried.

Sniper winced a little; eager as he was, loosened and slicked by Spy’s tongue, it was still a bit of a rush. The discomfort quickly passed, replaced by deep fullness and pleasure. “Gonna fuck you one of these days,” he growled, “gonna see you on your knees with a mouthful of my cock.” He arched back against Spy, crying out in a high, thin voice when Spy, deep inside him, thrust against his prostate.

“I’d like that,” he growled, “though I might like this better.” God, Sniper felt so good, so hot and tight around his cock. He thrust slowly at first, trying not to cause Sniper any pain. Soon enough the man was rocking back into him.

“Please, god, fuck, Spy I can take it, please, fuck!” Sniper repositioned himself, flattening his chest to the bed and arching his spine even farther, getting a deeper angle.

Spy’s breaths were coming out in quick, hard little pants. “Yes, yes, yes!” He cried, thrusting harder and faster into Sniper, as deep as he could get.

Sniper licked blood off his knuckle, remembering how it had felt to hit—and be hit by—Spy, even as his enemy fucked him into the thin, lumpy mattress. Sniper had been fucked by plenty of men on almost every continent, and _this_ one was...definitely up there.

Between being sore and knowing he’d be feeling it tomorrow, and being in this wonderful ecstasy as he fucked his enemy, Spy was in heaven. “Fuck, you’re so perfect, you feel so good, I’m going to cum in you, you want that, don’t you? You want the man who stabs you in the back to cum in your ass?” he groaned.

Sensing Spy wouldn’t let him finish—might, in fact _stop_ , knowing the contrary French bastard—until he answered to Spy’s liking, Sniper growled, “Yes, fuck, yes that’s what I want! Please, Spy.” He laughed. “Stab me in the back.”

Spy came, hard, clutching at Sniper’s hips with his fingers.

“Fuck!” Feeling Spy finish in him pushed Sniper over the edge and he cried out as he came without needing to touch himself. His hips bucked, hard, drawing every bit of pleasure out of Spy he could until he was panting, almost fully collapsed on the bed.

Spy slumped on top of him, still inside of Sniper. “Fuck,” he murmured, panting hard.

“Fuck,” Sniper agreed, laughing breathlessly.

“You feel so good,” he sighed, sliding out of Sniper and flopping to the side of him onto the thin mattress. He was sweating, out of breath.

Sniper laughed. “You too, mate.” He automatically cuddled against Spy, drawing the smaller man close.

Spy sighed again, happily, letting Sniper draw him in and hold him. He closed his eyes, yawning.

“You, ah...got anywhere you have to be tonight?” Sniper asked, shyly. He didn’t want to come on too strong, didn’t want to make it seem like it meant more to him than Spy wanted it to and drive him away, but...he did like cuddling for a while, after.

“Non, not tonight,” Spy chuckled. “Not to mention, I am quite tired and sore.”

“Glad it’s not just me...though I did a bit more fighting than you.” Sniper pulled Spy even closer, tentatively at first, relieved when Spy didn’t pull away.

Spy pressed a kiss to Sniper’s bruised shoulder, nuzzling into his neck and pulling the sheets over them.

“Didn’t think this was how today would end, not by a long shot,” Sniper admitted. He yawned, jaw cracking. “Better than it started, though, that’s for sure.”

“I’m glad I was a good end to your day,” Spy laughed.

“Not exactly the usual run of things, is it?”

“ _Non_ , not at all.”

 


End file.
